


Invisible People

by coreopsis



Category: Alabama Motel Room - Matthew Good Band (song)
Genre: Gen, Revenge, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-16
Updated: 2001-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"in an Alabama motel room<br/>I have one of them tied up in the bathroom<br/>I am down and out<br/>but he will not get away with it again"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible People

Even now, Drew can't believe how easy it was to get him here. Nobody pays attention to the bartender. Nobody ever notices the guy who gives them beer and takes their grubby money and listens to their stupid drunken bragging. Nobody thinks he's a danger, even those who should know that invisible people are the most dangerous. Everyone can be dangerous sometimes. Depends on what you take from them.

A rhythmic thump from the other room brings him to his feet, and he crosses the threadbare carpet in a few strides to open the door. "Stop it. There's nobody over there. That room hasn't been rented since that crackhead tore the place up last week. It's just you and me, bubba."

He watches dispassionately as the man in the tub stops banging his feet on the wall and glares at him. The glare melts a little into a plea, but that has no effect either. It's not time to untie him. Maybe it never will be.

Checking the ropes and gag, Drew gets a whiff of something under the fear and sweat and urine that soaks the man. He leans closer and sniffs at the stale t-shirt covering his chest. Just the hint of a floral scent. His stomach churns as he pulls back. He thinks to comment, but can't get the words past clenched teeth. He slams the door as he leaves the bathroom.

He carefully peeks around the edges of the curtain, but no one's around to have heard the commotion--the pitiful excuse for a commotion. It would take more than a few bumps and thumps to draw a second glance around here. A blood-curdling scream or two might do it, but then again, maybe not.

Certainly the pop of a firing gun is no cause for alarm, except for the person facing down the barrel. He looks at the .38 revolver on the table by his chair. He can hear it, sometimes when his guard is down. _Use me. Shoot me. Use me shoot me use me shoot me usemeshootmeusemeshootme..._ it whispers over and over until it's a constant susurration inside his head.

He turns up the television until Bob Barker's voice is bouncing off the walls and answers, "Not yet, not yet, not yet."

Drew is what the police dramas would call a drifter, but he thinks if he could just find a reason he'd stop moving. St. Louis didn't have it. Neither did Little Rock, Memphis or Jackson. New Orleans had been promising as had Baton Rouge, but ultimately...there was nothing for him there. His car died for the last time halfway between Biloxi and Mobile, and he'd left it on the side of the highway and started hitching.

Now in Birmingham, he's got a job in a beer joint so pathetic that it could only hope to one day rise up the drinking establishment ladder to full "dive" status. It doesn't have a sign, but everyone calls it Frank's. If there's an actual Frank involved, Drew hasn't heard about it. Maybe he's invisible too.

Then there's her... Kathleen something or other. He's been thinking that she might be...well, not a reason to stop, but an incentive to not move too fast this time. Hang around a while and see what develops. Show her that she's not invisible. Not to him, anyway.

The game show goes off with Bob's chirpy reminder to spay or neuter your animals. And Drew almost doesn't recognize that weird stretching of his face, but as he walks by the dresser he sees himself in the mirror. Oh yeah, it's a smile. He forgets sometimes to do that.

He flings the bathroom door open so that it slams into the wall. He likes to watch the little prick jump feebly in his bonds. Milky blue eyes look up at him hopelessly, all the anger's drained away for now. Drew gets down on his knees next to the tub and stares hard into those eyes, trying to see some hint of a soul or humanity or whatever it is that makes a person worthy of taking up space on this earth.

The man in the tub is empty. Maybe there's a touch of fear and a dash of cruelty, but it's mindless and boring. It hasn't had time to age into anything truly terrifying.

Drew raises his hand, almost surprised to see the gun in it. He can't remember picking it up, but then he seldom pays attention to the physicality of it. Its voice is too strong, too distracting.

Rubbing the barrel along the line of the man's cheek, Drew croons, "Shhh, it won't hurt, not much." But he's not sure which of them he's reassuring.

He presses the muzzle of the gun against the comparatively fragile skin at the temple, pushing so hard the skin almost splits, as he loosens the bandanna around the man's mouth. "What's your name anyway, bubba?"

The man's mouth moves but no sound comes out. His tongue flicks over his lips, but it looks dry too. "What's wrong? You need a drink?"

Laying the gun on top of the toilet tank, he turns on one of the taps in the tub and then grabs a fistful of the man's long, lank hair and shoves his face under the cold water cascading noisily from the faucet. He holds him there, listening to the sputters and curses.

But after a moment, he pulls him back, turns off the tap, and asks again. "Name?"

Teeth chattering, thin lips blue, fear-widened eyes, nothing to draw any true sympathy as he stutters out, "R-Ruh-Richard."

A slightly stunned silence, because it's too easy. "Dick suits you."

"N-no, it's Richard." But Drew doesn't care because some things are meant to be.

"Hey, Dick, you know Bob Barker says I'm supposed to neuter my pets. You my pet?"

Dick stares up at him, confusion on his skinny face. Drew runs his gaze down his body and notices everything about the man is skinny. Insubstantial, really. Drew is no muscle man himself, but he's been forged in the fires of hard work and a hard life. He could break this one so easy. If he wanted to.

 _Use me, shoot me_ He glances over his shoulder at the gun and murmurs, "Later."

He turns back and asks, "You know my name?"

Dick shakes his head violently, flinging drops of water everywhere. Drew draws back and stretches his mouth into a smile again. "No, why would you? I'm invisible. I'll bet you thought she was too, didn't you?"

Dick gulps so loud that Drew can hear it, can almost hear the sound of the blood draining out of his face if he listens closely enough. Dick licks his lips and stammers, "Who-who-who're you talkin' about?"

"I can smell her on you. That was your last mistake, dumbass." He casts a significant glance toward the gun, and then shakes his head in mock disappointment. "And here I was, just going to shoot you. And by the way, lying won't help you none."

"What you gonna do?"

"Nothing until you tell me where to find the others. They haven't been in Frank's all week."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I meant, I won't do nothing fatal. Is that difference too subtle for you? Need me to explain it to you...Dick?"

"I can't tell you. I can't." Dick licks his lips again, and gives a pleading look that is not very convincing at all. "Ernie'd kill me."

"What makes you think Ernie's gonna get the chance?" Just to give him something else to think about, Drew turns the water on again, this time closing the drain. He silently watches it splash into the tub, tumbling over Dick's bound body, soaking his clothes and lessening the stink some as it gets deeper and deeper.

Dick shifts and tries to sit up, but Drew pushes him back down as he starts to bargain. "Don't kill me and I'll tell. Turn me loose, and I'll tell you anything you wanna know."

"You're missing the point, you stupid motherfucker." The vehemence in his voice makes Dick draw back and that irritates Drew into shoving his head under the water again. When he pulls him up again, he tightens his hand in Dick's hair and gives him a shake. "Do I look like Monty Hall to you? This ain't 'Let's Make a Deal.'"

"What is it?" Dick's sounding wheezy and if he ever had any fight in him, it's gone now. "What're you gonna do?"

"Dick, you're a broken record." He gives his head another shake and speaks slowly for the obviously learning-impaired. "You tell me and I'll tell you."

"There's a bar..."

"Uh huh...which one?"

"Untie me and I'll give you the address."

Drew narrows his eyes and lowers his voice, until it's barely audible over the sound of the sloshing water. "Are you scared of me?"

"No." Dick's face says otherwise, but he can't admit it, him being such a tough guy and all. "Untie me."

Drew stands up and picks up the gun. He raises it up and stares down the barrel, adjusts slightly until the site is right above the bridge of Dick's nose. He stands there, attention focused on that little patch of skin until his eyes start to water and the man in the tub starts to whimper. "How about now?"

"N-nuh-no, I ain't sc-scared."

Drew snorts and lowers the gun. "Yeah, bubba, you keep telling yourself that."

As he turns to walk out of the bathroom, he hears a sniffle and he thinks he's close. They both are.

Soap operas have replaced the game shows, so he flips the channel until he finds a movie that looks so old it ought to be in black and white. The chatter of fast paced dialogue plays out as he lights a cigarette and thinks about the first time he smelled her.

He'd seen her around before, but the first time he was close enough to get wrapped up in her honeysuckle scent is marked in his memory as the most important moment. It was sweetness and sunlight, but more than that. She looked at him as if she saw him, recognized him in some way that wasn't threatening. He didn't feel the need to fade or run when she looked at him. She hinted at all that was good in the world...soft, sweet, gracious. Not perfect, of course, but making the concept imaginable for once.

Fucking bastards. Every last one deserves whatever he gets. And why shouldn't Drew be the one to give it? He's gotta be more reliable than the justice system. Reliable as an old .38, he is. They can't get away with it.

_Use me. Shoot me. Use me shoot me usemeshootmeusemeshootme use me..._

He could, with an untraceable gun, no less. It could be traced back to Oklahoma, but not back to his hand. After all this time, there's nobody back in OK City who'd remember him. He's not sure of much in this world, but some things are immutable.

Grinding out his cigarette in the motel ashtray, he picks up the gun and goes back to the bathroom. Dick is up to his Adam's apple in cold water and his teeth chatter as he tries to say something.

Hooking his hands under Dick's arms, Drew hauls him out onto the floor. Water goes everywhere, soaking through his sneakers and splashing his jeans all down the length of his legs, but he dismisses the discomfort as unimportant.

Face down on the dingy tile floor, Dick whimpers as Drew straddles him, knees on either side of his hips. The muzzle of the gun digs into that almost soft spot at the base of the skull, but Drew has to ask something first. "Scared yet?"

"Y-yeah."

Finally, a flicker of satisfaction at the admission. "I'll bet she was scared, too." A wet sniffle is his only answer. "I'll bet she cried and begged you to stop. You gonna beg, Dick?"

"Puh-please."

"Please what?" He presses the gun down harder. "Please don't kill you?" Then he runs the muzzle down Dick's spine to his ass. He pokes him just hard enough to elicit another whimper. "Please don't rape you? That what you're afraid of, bubba?"

No answer so he prods harder until Dick nearly screams, "Yes."

"I wasn't going to, but now that you mention it..." He smiles at the strangled groan that gets him. "You know, I dimly recall something I heard once about taking an 'eye for an eye'. Should that be a fuck for a fuck?"

A full and busy silence descends on the tiny room, until a harshly whispered, "Cocksucker," breaks the spell.

Drew leans over far enough to blow lightly into Dick's ear. "Better to suck cock voluntarily than rape defenseless women. Now where can I find the others?"

His last bit of defiance spent, Dick babbles out an address, and Drew knows exactly what to do. He gets up, lifts Dick up off the floor just far enough to get his head in the tub. Holding him down until the thrashing stops, Drew makes plans. He'll dump old Dick here in a rain filled ditch at the side of the highway as soon as it gets dark, and then he'll find the others.

_Use me shoot me use me shoot me..._

"I will. I will, when the time is right."

And then he'll find her, and ask her if she likes the ocean. He's already thinking about where to go next. Over to Savannah, maybe, or down to Florida where the rain is more predictable. Somewhere they can be invisible together.

The End.


End file.
